It has been brought to my attention that I often write "noone" and that "noone" is not correct. That it is "no one".
I am totally aware of this. My hands on the other...umm, hand...are not aware and flat out refuse to put a space between those words. I can apologize all day long for this glaring spelling error, and believe me if anyone hates a spelling error it's me. The reason I read everything I see? To catch errors. It's a hobby. Like I was saying, I can apologize all day but that won't change anything. My stubborn thumbs will just not cooperate.
I ventured out into the day after Thanksgiving shopping mayhem with Morgan. I didn't arrive as early as he did, but still.
One of our very, wait, no, our VERY FIRST STOP was Forever 21. We walk in the doors and they had these huge 4 foot speakers blasting terrible songs. We are immediately berated into signing up for some giveaway and are told, "We have a drawing every hour...the next drawing is in..about an hour." Fantastic! Thanks Candy!
Just as we pass by one of the sets of speakers California Gurls comes on. This is where I pause to hang my head because little did I know exactly how much the rest of my day would be affected by this moment. So, it comes on and we groan in unison because, a. it's a terrible song, and 2. it's a terrible song, and c. it's an irritating song. Do you know it? Oh, you don't? Here, click on this handy link...no, it's not a link to the song...um, it's a link to a picture of cute little puppy blowing kisses to a baby chick. Yep. That's it.
We do some shopping, hop around the mall for a bit and then head out to other places. Finally I notice that I am singing that damn song. I typically only get as far as singing California Gurls and then I say, "Shut up!" and strangers take a step back because here's this crazy person talking to her self and yelling at herself to shut up. Morgan is doing the same thing. All day. We're singing this song and then yelling at ourselves. Finally we succumb. We just sing it along with dance moves. I was corrected on the boob juggle, but hey, I'm not perfect. "No, juggle them, not just bounce them. God. Get it together."
After awhile of giving in, I started to get irritated again, but I was too tired to care. I was literally beaten down by this song. Beaten into submission by a song. It may not be the first time and I'm sure it's not the last.
That night I was sitting at home, relaxing from the long day of shopping and abuse and finally, finally the tune was out of my head.
I see I have a text message. Know what it said? Do ya? Do you wanna know?
"Cal-i-fornia Gurls are undeniable."
Thanks Morgan.
In true spirit I responded, "Daisy dukes, bikini's on top." Then I passed out.
Wow. I totally lied to you and really took my time putting a new post up. My apologies friends. But, hey, it's the Holiday's so you have to forgive me. Also, presents.
I hope that your Thanksgiving was fantastic. Mine was. It was delicious and fabulous and I'm typing this with my laptop resting on my enormous belly while I eat a piece of pie with my bare hands.
I am not exaggerating. This pie is delicious and must be eaten straight out of the pie plate with your bare hands. It's better that way.
Thanksgiving this year was amazing. It snowed. Everyone was together. Mostly. Joe was at work, so sad. My step-sister and her family just moved down South so they weren't here either. Other than that, awesome.
I gave Madison her plate of food and on that plate was a dinner roll. I sat down across from her. She picked up the roll, tore it open and said to me, "A roll? Without butter? This is not a roll." It brought a tear to my eye.
We ate. Played games. Ate some more. Played games. I even had a personal friend and her kids over for dinner. Hi Shannon! She brought green bean casserole. Yeah, I know what you're thinking. "Green bean casserole, same old same old." Well, shut your face. This was not "same old, same old green bean casserole". This casserole had pizzazz, it had grace, it had flair, it also had chicken and cheese. Know what else it has? My heart, my love, my respect.
That was that. Nothing too crazy. Noone went nuts and got drunk and ran out naked in the snow...
Or did they? Hmmm?
I guess you'll never know.
So, happy belated Thanksgiving to you and yours.
Those two pies at the bottom of the picture. Yep. Those are mine.
You can stop looking for me now. I'm right here. You silly.
I know you've missed me but don't you worry. I haven't forgotten about you. I've only forgotten everything else. Like...for example...I don't know, but I have.
I will have a more thorough post for you later...maybe today...maybe tomorrow...I can't promise things I'm too busy writing letters of complaint and letters to Santa. Note: the letters of complaint are not going to Santa, these are two separate letter writing ventures.
Until then, here's this.
Right after this Madison told me a butt joke and Cooper rubbed his food into his hair.
Well, now it's November, so Happy November! How was your Halloween? Was it everything you dreamed and hoped for?
Did your Leg Avenue costume come in the mail on time? Sorry. That was harsh.
When I see those costumes I actually cringe. Is there no imagination left in the world? I wouldn't mind if it was a sexy moon fairy costume if at least it had been put together piece by piece and didn't come out of a bag. A whore bag. Oops. Sorry again.
I was Flo. The Progressive Insurance Lady. I had to clarify because someone mistook me for Flo from that show Alice.
Guy: Oh, I thought you were Flo from that show…what was it, from the 70s?
Me: Alice?
Guy: That show with the waitress, Alice and the diner…
Me: ALICE!?
Guy: Yeah, Alice. I thought you were Flo, from that show.
Me: IT’S QUITE OBVIOUS THAT I’M FLO FROM THE PROGRESSIVE INSURANCE COMMERCIALS. QUITE. OBVIOUS.
Momma: Ooh. Indignant.
Yes.
No.
This coming from a man in no costume. Thanks for showing up and bringing your 'A' game, dude.
We are going out for a family dinner to celebrate Morgan's impending graduation...I think this is his third graduation. He's just trying to show me up.
Momma: We should make reservactions for 6:30, you think?
I have been in a room with 13 kindergarten and first grade students while they played Simon Says. I neglected to apply the stipulation of: no yelling and no making Ms. Amber's ears bleed. Every little Simon at one point...or another... would say: "Simon Says Yell...or Be Loud...or Go Crazy...or Hey look Ms. Amber's eye's are bleeding...
When they finally were all picked up by their keepers I struggled to get out to my car, Mad and Coop in tow. "Momma?" Madison falling down all the way because she was carrying one of my bags and she's as dramatic as me. "Momma?" We get to the car. "Momma?" I have to set my bags on the wet ground, oh yeah, it snowed and rained today. "Momma?" I couldn't find my keys because someone dumped my bag out when they fell down for the fifth time so they weren't where I put them. "Momma?" I finally get Cooper buckled in, bags in the car, self in the car. Then...
Madison: Momma?
Me: Sigh. Yes Madison?
Madison: Um, Momma? Do you want to see me cross all of my fingers at one time?
What kind of bra do you wear? Well, if you're a girl...well...maybe if you're a guy. I don't care. I'm not here to judge. I wear a normal bra. By normal I mean, it has no tassles, spikes, bells, whistles or time constraints.
18 Hour Bra? 18 hours? Why? Was there a request made?
"Yes, Playtex? This is Beverly, I would like you to create a bra that lasts for 18 hours. Thanks."
Why did she do that? Probably because her name is Beverly.
Maybe it was invented by a man (most likely) and he couldn't get any girl to take off her bra. So, he said, "I know, I will invent a bra that has to be removed. Yes! Boobs. Boooobs. Booooooobs. Ma! What's for dinner?!"
What my main concern is, what happens after 18 hours? This has been the topic of many discussions with Morgan. I know, we're awesome. We both thought that the bras only lasted for 18 hours, that they were perhaps disposable. Maybe they explode. What if you have to work late? Or are out for some after hours drinks with colleagues. (I'm assuming that business women wear 18 hour bras, seems like one of those responsible things that people do.) What if you put the bra on really early, perhaps in the middle of the night...and then you're out the following night and you realize that you're bordering on the 18 hour mark. You shriek, "Oh my God! What time is it!?" sloshing your drink around, grabbing your boss by the shirt collar, screaming in his face. Sadly, it is too late. The bra bursts into flames.
"She seemed so responsible, she was always on time...why didn't she realize that the 18 hours was almost up? So sad. Poor Beverly."
Or, maybe the bra just disintegrates. There you are walking through town and "fizzle", your bra is dust and there you are just hanging loose on Main Street. Mother's are shielding their children's eyes, "Don't look! Put on a bra ma'am, what is wrong with you?! Don't you know what time it is?"
Maybe you turn into a pumpkin. Or, you sprout two pumpkins on your chest. Okay, that's just ridiculous.
According to Momma, the bra is made to be comfortable for 18 hours. This still boggles my brain. How does it know? What if you just take it off and then put it back on, is it then good for 18 more hours? How does it know?! Does it recharge itself? Is there some sort of apparatus that you have to rest it on so that it can conform back to its original shape therefore making it good for 18 more hours?
Have you seen one of these things? It's like a quilt for your chest. Oh! And it comes in toffee! Gasp. And BEIGE!
Someone got a fancy Password Journal for her birthday. No, not me. It was Madison of course...though I'm not known for turning down gifts, so if you're in a giving mood...
She received this gift yesterday...today I'm on the verge plunging that little book into a pot of boiling water and then stringing it up in town square and throwing stones at it. The basics.
With this Password Journal, initially you hold down the main button and it prompts you in this English accent, "Recohd passwohd" then you say you're super secret password. After that, it prompts, "Repeat passwohd", then you repeat it and it says, "Passwohd Recohded". From that moment on whenever you want to open the journal, to, as Madison says, "Write down all your secrets" (she's seven, how many secrets does this kid have?), you press the button and it tells you to say your "passwohd" and then *magical music here* it opens and you are free to write all of your secrets. Ooh, and I love this part! Whenever you successfully open the journal it tells you how many possible intruders there have been since your last journal writing session! "37 new intruhdahs."
Now, all of this is probably what happens in everyone else's home. Not here. Nope.
This is how it goes:
Journal: Recohd passwohd.
Madison: Rat (I'm not kidding)
Journal: Repeat passwohd.
Madison: Rat (Seriously)
Journal: ERRAH! Recohd passowhd.
Now, repeat that 34 times. I think every two times, the journal says, "See you latah!" and my eyes start to bleed.
Every few times Madison will change the password choice. Every 86th time the journal will actually open and we both look at each other with despair in our eyes...then she shuts it again and I pass out.
You can even change the sensitivity to the microphone, so that you can say the password quietly and not as clearly. That doesn't matter, this thing it like Fort fucking Knox. You're not getting in with anything less than an encrypted ID, eyeball scan, fingerprinting, DNA check and your first born.
Here's what it looks like when it's open. I guess. I don't know from personal experience.
I'm sure that you've all seen the N64 kid. I was only just introduced to the video 4 days ago, like, a million years after everyone else. Believe me, I've made up for lost time by watching it over and over and over and over.
I have yet to tire of it, I hope I never do.
In case you haven't seen it.
Okay, so it's a brother/sister team on Christmas morning. They've gotten to the big gift, the one they've been waiting for. Sister is dressed in a purple tutu and is holding a purple headdress in her hand. Brother is busy fuh-reaking out while unwrapping the N64. (By the way, this is EXACTLY how I reacted when I got my Super Nintendo...so, yeah.) At one point Brother accidentally grabs Sister's headdress while ripping paper off of the box and you hear her utter a "Hey." As in, "Watch what the fuck you're doing you asshole."
Then the real fun begins, Brother begins screaming AT the box. AT THE BOX. Then, a slow motion screaming segment. I am a sucker for these. Next, more screaming right in the boxes face, take that you, you, box. Then he starts doing some sort of interpretive hand dance on the box, Sister tries to join in but her hands are simply not enough compared to Brother's. Plus, she's still holding that damn headdress. It's clear to see where her allegiance lies.
That's when Brother begins a yelling and fist throwing segment I refer to as "N64 Jersey Shore", again, Sister's attempts at appearing as excited as her elder brother are futile and frankly a little embarrassing. She gives up towards the end and starts admiring her headdress again.
Brother says, breathlessly, "Now we can go get games from Blockbuster!" Awesome, kid. Mom jumps up, perhaps to go cry, and tells him that now he can open that other present. This cast away present was probably grabbed 5 times during the morning only to be met with, "No, don't open that one yet." Meaning that it has something to do with the amazing N64, right? I know that in his mind, he's thinking "GAMES, GAMES, GAMES, GAMES."
He opens it, while Sister, AGAIN, tries to act like this means something to her by hugging the box, "My dreams have come..." then Brother says, "It's a N64...remote...controlled...car..." Yep. It sure is. Have fun with that while you're inside playing your video games.
We are left with one more magnificent slow-mo scream. I cannot get enough of it. I wish that when I screamed it would come out like that....I think I'll start making that happen.
